


Ill-Timed

by glim



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:38:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9589163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Yuuri glances at Viktor, working to keep the frown off his face. If you weren't looking too closely, you might think that it was mere fatigue that made Viktor look pale and shadow-eyed, or made his voice sound quiet and rough.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GooberFeesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberFeesh/gifts).



> For gooberfeesh, who requested Viktor/Yuuri, and the prompt: Ill Timed - it’s the worst possible time for (character) to be sick, but their body didn’t get the memo. (Revised from original Tumblr post.)

It creeps up on him slowly at first, so that Yuuri doesn't even notice. But there's a point, sometime later in the afternoon, when Viktor's shoulders start to droop and he starts to get that little, quiet, catch when he clears his throat. He motions Yuuri off the rink instead of calling to him and crosses his arms over his chest to keep himself warm. 

That's when Yuuri can tell. 

And as soon as he can tell that Viktor's under the weather, Yuuri gives Viktor tea and puts him to bed early. Of course, this only works because Yuuri also gets in bed early that night with Viktor and spends the better part of a two-hour movie stroking Viktor's hair. The gentle, repetitive action lulls him into a doze about thirty minutes in, but wakes up when Yuuri stops and spends about ten minutes trying to get comfortable again. 

Sighing, he wraps himself up around Yuuri, and gives Yuuri a little pleading look when he wants more tea. Towards the end of the film, Viktor starts sniffling and coughing, and Yuuri can't help but make a sympathetic sound when he rubs his face into Yuuri's shoulder. 

"Alright?"

Viktor nods, then coughs and shakes his head. "I think I'm getting sick..." 

"You're definitely getting sick," Yuuri says, and almost has to laugh at how Viktor holds onto the last shred of uncertainty. He shifts on the bed, puts his laptop aside, and lets Viktor sprawl on top of him. "Try and get some rest, okay?" 

Viktor sighs, but rests his head against Yuuri's chest and curls himself around Yuuri under the blankets. He's quiet for a few minutes, almost about to doze off again, when he looks up at Yuuri with a sudden urgency in his tired eyes. 

"But you're competing tomorrow!" 

Yuuri smoothes one hand over Viktor's hair and tries to nudge his head back down. "That's right. Did you forget?" 

Viktor actually _tsk_ s at Yuuri, uncurls to prop himself up on one elbow, and rests his other hand on Yuuri's chest. "I could never be ill enough to forget one of your competitions. But..." He pats Yuuri on the chest. "I don't want to be all..." His hand stills, then he waves it vaguely in front of his face after a brief cough. "Like _this_ when you're on the ice." 

Yuuri's about to ask "like what?" but he knows. He _knows_ what Viktor's like when he gets sick, and he can see it starting already with the barely disguised exhaustion and the rasp at the back of his voice that gets stronger each time he talks.

"We'll take care of that tomorrow. Let's get some res now, thought..." The urgency in Viktor's eyes lingers, and only fades when Yuuri uses the tip of one finger to brush the hair from his eyes. "You'll look and feel worse if you don't sleep." 

Viktor sighs again, and this time reaches up to rub his face, pressing the heel of his hand into one eye. He blinks at Yuuri, and this time allows Yuuri urge him to lie back down. 

"Do I look sick already?" 

"You look ridiculous, with your watery eyes and how you keep coughing at me." 

Viktor pouts, and nestles himself in closer and closer to Yuuri, until Yuuri practically has to put his arms around Viktor and hug him warmly. Really, he does look a bit ridiculous, but mostly, well, he looks tired and like he's getting sick. 

He should've seen it coming earlier, however, after the past month's shuffle between airports and hotel rooms, after all the time spent on airplanes and amidst the crowds at ice rinks. 

Viktor does this to himself, in a way, Yuuri sometimes thinks. He forgets that he's vulnerable, too, and that he can't expect his body to be impervious to everything through the sheer force of his will. 

But, Yuuri knows, it's not Viktor's fault that he finds himself in this sort of state half of the time as the competition season nears it's end. It's not his fault that too much travel and not enough proper rest tend to render him more susceptible than he usually is. 

Sympathy, and not a little worry, catch in Yuuri's chest and he smooths his hand over Viktor's hair again. He'll be all right, Yuuri knows that, too, but he hates the idea that Viktor's going to have to go through tomorrow's events with a burgeoning head cold. 

A kiss to his forehead, and yet another, and Viktor looks up at him with a sleepy smile. He tips his head to one side, gazes at Yuuri for a moment, then leans in to press a warm kiss to Yuuri's cheek. 

"Don't be nervous. You'll be fantastic. Don't worry," he adds, and rests his head back down on Yuuri's chest. "I'll worry for you." 

"I'm not. I won't... I'm only--" 

Before Yuuri can finish, Viktor hugs him and presses another kiss to his chest and murmurs something indistinct into his shirt. 

Whatever he says is fond, and Yuuri relaxes into the words as he does the blankets on their hotel room bed. Viktor relaxes against him within minutes, and goes limp with sleep, his head pillowed on Yuuri's chest. The room is quiet and dark and warm enough, and Yuuri places his glasses and phone aside. Falling asleep is almost always easier when he tells himself that he can save his worry for the next day, and when Viktor's near and already asleep. 

* 

"Ibuprofen, at least?"

Viktor shrugs, and reaches around Yuuri to grab a couple tissues from the box on the bathroom counter. He's still damp and pink from the long, hot shower he just took, and doesn't look quite as tired or droopish as he did last night after about twelve hours in bed and a few more spent lounging and drinking tea. 

"For the headache?" Yuuri urges. "And the sore throat? I know your throat hurts." 

"It's not so bad." Viktor turns aside to blow his nose, and then gives a few sharp coughs that echo in the bathroom. "Oh..." 

"That... sounded kind of painful." Yuuri finishes slicking back his hair, checks that he looks neat and put-together, and gives himself a nod of approval. He has a few hours before he needs to head to the rink, but if he gets his hair to behave now, the less he'll have to deal with it later. "You have to take something so you don't feel so ... Maybe you should stay in the hotel," Yuuri says in a rush. 

Affronted, Viktor stares at Yuuri for a long moment that he only ends when he has to cough again and swipe at his nose. "I can't send you out there on your own. Not after we've worked so hard. I deserve to see this competition," he says. "What sort of coach would abandon you for the sniffles?"

"We're going to be there all day," Yuuri says. His heart sinks a little at the thought of Viktor sitting in the cold ice rink, having to talk to the press and other coaches, never quite warm enough, his voice fading as the day wears on. 

"Yes, that's right. And I don't... don't want..." He sighs, reaches for another few tissues, and nudges Yuuri aside as he steps out of the bathroom to run through a couple sneezes. When he's finished, he pitches his tissues into the bin and leans against the doorframe. "I don't want _you_ there all day by yourself." 

"And I don't want you there if you're going to feel awful." 

"Yuuri..." Viktor touches Yuuri's wrist, and tugs him closer so they're looking at each other directly and not through the mirror's reflection. "I've spent so many days at other ice rinks skating in competitions like this. All skaters have." 

"That's not exactly reassuring." 

VIktor laughs, but laughing makes him cough, and coughing makes him sniffle, but this time when he has to grab more tissues from the box on the counter, gives another laugh and calls himself a complete mess. 

"Okay. I'll take the ibuprofen. And the tissues, I'm going to have to take the tissues with me, or I'm not going to get through the day." 

*

Actually, it's not getting through the day that's so bad. Viktor spends the late morning and early afternoon in the hotel room with Yuuri, watching videos of his last performance. 

He even does the thing where he pauses the video every time Yuuri does something he's especially proud of and makes sure to point it out to Yuuri. Which is Viktor being encouraging and doing his best to put Yuuri's self-confidence on a level beyond it's usual fair-to-middling pre-competition state. 

This time, though, the encouragement also features Viktor in the process of coming down with a rather splendid head cold. For every word of encouragement, he has to look away from Yuuri and rubs his eyes or nose, or clear his throat. There's the coughing and sneezing, sure, but there's also the way he starts flagging after they have a light, late lunch.

"I'm alright, you know that, right, Viktor? I'm not too nervous." Viktor looks uncertain, so Yuuri takes his hand and squeezes. "Tell me not to worry about you, and I won't. Or I'll try my best not to, anyway, okay?" 

Viktor slides his arm around Yuuri's shoulders and rests his cheek on Yuuri's hair. "Worry over me later tonight, da? I have a feeling I'll need it then..." 

*

Viktor says he's not embarrassed, but Yuuri can tell he's not pleased with the idea of having to bring medicine and tea and tissues and cough drops with him to the rink that afternoon. Even though he's only taking the painkillers, and Yuuri puts the hot, strong, honey-sweet tea in his own travel mug for Viktor, he still goes shy and quiet when he has to resign himself to the all the little details that point him not feeling well. 

"Don't mention it to anyone... not until you're finished and you've won," Viktor says as they walk to the warm up area. "All the attention should be on you." 

Yuuri glances at Viktor, working to keep the frown off his face. If you weren't looking too closely, you might think that it was mere fatigue that made Viktor look pale and shadow-eyed, or made his voice sound quiet and rough. 

Yuuri's not yet certain how many people aside from him pay attention to the way Viktor dresses. He has a soft, dark grey v-neck sweater on over his shirt and tie, and a grey scarf a few shades lighter than the sweater with his dark overcoat. All warm layers, and all colors that work to make his eyes look a brighter blue. But if you knew Viktor, if you really knew him, you'd also know that he is dressed to ward off a chill, and that he'll spend a good half after he gets back to the hotel room that night warming his hands and feet. 

Yet, so few people know Viktor in such a manner, and keeping those vulnerabilities secret make it easier for him to appear in public today. 

He does a good job, too, of smiling and forcing his voice into a close approximation of cheerful enthusiasm for the press who greet him and Yuuri at the rink. 

"We're very excited," he says, and when he gives the press the smile that reaches all the way to his eyes and puts his arm around Yuuri, anyone would be hard pressed to believe that he was feeling anything else but pre-competition excitement. "I have every confidence that Yuuri's going to give one of his best performances here today. Watch him closely." 

Yuuri smiles, and feels himself leaning into the hug even as the press watches him and Viktor. "I do, I do feel optimistic," he says, turning to Viktor again to share a quick smile with him. 

It's when the press leaves them, and after Yuuri's warmed up and waiting to give his performance that he can take Viktor's hand and draw him in closer for warmth. He's been coughing since they sat down to wait, and it's starting to sound a little more rough, like his throat hurts, and like he's starting to get congested. 

"I'm alright." He clasps both his hands around one of Yuuri's and holds on quite tight. 

"You're not," Yuuri says, but he leans in closer to do so, and wraps his other hand over Viktor's. "But I'm pretty sure nobody else can tell how much..." 

They sit close, hands clasped and foreheads touching, for a few more moments. Yuuri knows he'll get asked about this later, what the sudden display of public closeness means, and he kind of hopes Viktor feels up to explaining. 

Before he's meant to go onto the ice, Yuuri offers his travel mug to Viktor and watches him, smiling for the cameras, until Viktor takes it and drinks. 

"Yuuri," he says, and Yuuri can tell he's trying to sound admonishing, but he sounds tired and sick at this point. He turns aside to cough at his shoulder, then gives a small, weary sigh. 

"I just want you to feel better. At least a little bit." 

"So warm-hearted," Viktor says, looking more touched than expected. He coughs again, and rubs his face quickly in his shoulder to hide a sniffle. "Watching you skate your best is really the only thing that would make me feel any better right now, though." 

When he smiles, it's another bright smile, and even though he's starting to look bleary with fatigue and illness, it's not his public, press-pleasing smile, but the smaller one he saves for Yuuri. 

Yuuri reaches for Viktor's hands to hold them in his own, fast and tight, and murmurs in a rush, "I'll take care of you, Vitya, I promise, after I win." 

*

He does exactly that. 

He wins, and wins in such a way that he wants to cry with relief and joy. 

But first, when he skates off the ice, he goes to Viktor, and rests both his hands on Viktor's shoulders. 

Viktor nods in reply to the questioning look on Yuuri's face, and Yuuri knows without asking that all the answers are yes: _yes_ , you did well, _yes_ , I'm unspeakably proud of you, and _yes_ , I'm ready to leave and go back our hotel room and collapse onto the bed. 

"Come on," Viktor says, quiet, and starts to lead Yuuri to the kiss and cry. 

He stays so bright, so bright and strong and optimistic, as they wait for Yuuri's scores, and he probably cheers louder than anyone in the audience when they come in. He even pulls Yuuri into an over-eager hug, kissing him on the cheek and telling him over and over again how proud he is, how he knew Yuuri would do this, but how proud he is anyway. 

There's a riot of photography as Yuuri receives his scores, and he practically has to bury his face in Viktor's shoulder from the overwhelming combination of pride, relief, and adrenaline rush. 

It's Viktor, though, who finally gives into his exhaustion and who welcomes the opportunity of the attention being directed to the next competitor to practically slump against Yuuri. 

Yuuri knows this, too: that Viktor is completely aware they are not isolated enough that nobody will catch what he's done, that he's drooped in against Yuuri, that he's gone and let anyone who cares enough to notice that he's done his job and done it well on one of his worst days. 

He coughs and blows his nose through most of the last performance, and even lets Yuuri go to the green room to get him a cup of tea when he starts shivering and sneezing. 

"We don't have to stay long after," Yuuri says, and he already has as arm around Viktor's shoulders. "And you don't have to talk to the press, okay? Do you even have any voice left to do that?" he adds when Viktor tenses against him, about to object. 

"I'm ... well, I'm not sounding as good as I was earlier," he admits. His voice peters out toward the end, thin and strained, and he takes another slow sip of his tea. "I'll manage." 

"But you don't have to," Yuuri says, and rests a hand on Viktor's arm.

Thus, when they leave the competition amidst the well-wishers and photographers, Yuuri accepts it all with the quiet gratitude his parents taught him, but also with the confidence that Viktor's helped him foster. He keeps his arm around Viktor, protective and maybe more than a little bit possessive, even when Viktor decides to answer a few of the reporters' questions. 

When one of them remarks on his fading voice, he shrugs his hair from his eyes and smiles. "An ill-timed cold, that's all," he replies, no longer able to hide the rough, congested sound from his voice. He waves the rest of the questions away with another smile, directs them towards Yuuri, who answers for the both of them as they walk out. 

When they get in the car back to the hotel, Viktor gives Yuuri an uncertain look. He gazes at Yuuri, then, before Yuuri can say anything, he gives a small nod and leans in while Yuuri puts an arm around his shoulders to draw him close. 

*

"Oh." Viktor casts his phone aside and looks at Yuuri with baleful eyes. "Have you even seen the interview clips?"

Yuuri's stretched out on the bed, half ready to fall asleep, in worn sweats and still shower-warm and relaxed. He's pretty much ready to crash and can't understand how Viktor has any energy left to check the internet. Fumbling over the blankets, Yuuri finds and picks up Viktor's phone. "What? Y'look fine." 

"You're not wearing your glasses, and you're lying," Viktor says and Yuuri can hear the pout in his voice. "Also, I sound _terrible_. You didn't tell me how terrible I sounded." 

"I tried... you wanted to talk." Yuuri tosses Viktor's phone back to him so he can see the half-dozen notifications that have already popped up. "Come on. You promised me I could worry over you now..." 

"Ah, so I did... I'm glad I did that," he says, teasing, but Yuuri can hear the relief thread through his voice. 

He can also hear the cold in whatever voice Viktor has left rather well by this point, so he pulls on Viktor's hoodie until he has Viktor next to him and he can tug the blankets up over the both of them. 

Sharing Viktor with the world is part of the life he chose, but only Yuuri gets to see him like this, curled up and close, completely worn out, and needy, when the performance has come to an end.


End file.
